


Disco

by gonattsaga



Series: There's power in a union [1]
Category: Pride (2014)
Genre: Books, Canon - Bookshop, Clubbing, Disco, Established Relationship, First Time, Friendship/Love, Gay, Gay Lib, HIV/AIDS, London in the 80s, Love, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Pre-Movie(s), Queer Bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-07 00:50:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3154613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonattsaga/pseuds/gonattsaga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>”Pretty boy!” Jonathan exclaims when they come face to face the first time, words as grandiose as the trajectory of his arm when he swings it and Gethin almost flinches.</p><p>This is how they meet, fall in love and struggle through it all together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pretty

”Pretty boy!” Jonathan exclaims when they come face to face the first time, words as grandiose as the trajectory of his arm when he swings it and Gethin almost flinches, _almost_.

But, thanks to the twenty years of practising self-control, growing up in Wales as the only gay lad and a disappointingly slim and short one at that, he blinks instead, in _surprise_.

“Oh, don’t be scared”, the other man says however, and Gethin realises that he might have flinched slightly after all and forces his shoulders to _relax_.

“S-sorry”, he mumbles. “Have we met?”

“Welsh, pretty boy”, the man remarks. “How quaint. No, I don’t think we’ve met, at least not that I remember, and I would like to think I would remember someone as pretty as you.”

Gethin tries his hardest not to frown. He could do without the patronising endearments. He’s fully aware that he’s not exactly rugged or handsome, but _pretty_ just sounds girly. His mind flashes back to Carwyn and Andreas, his primary school bullies, and how they used to taunt him every day for the better part of a year, when they didn’t use him as a punching bag.

He shakes the memories away and focuses on the handsome stranger in front of him instead. The man is clearly sizing him up, and Gethin straightens up a little instinctively. Not that it does much, he’s still a head shorter than the other man, and judging by how tthe corner of his mouth twitches, he’s probably thinking the same.

“My name is Jonathan”, he says, a little calmer now. “What’s yours?”

“Gethin…”

His voice breaks a little and he cringes, instinctively squeezing his eyes shut as embarrassment rushes through him. He hates clubbing. He hates disco music. And he especially hates how he clearly doesn’t fit in with either.

He glances at the other man, _Jonathan_ , to see if he’s trying not to burst out laughing or, _worse_ , is about to. But he’s just smiling, and it’s not _exactly_ patronising. Just fond.

Gethin swallows thickly. He still hates it, all of it, because he’s just no good at this. In fact he’s awful.

“I love this song-!” Jonathan suddenly exclaims and just like that he’s gone again, like a plastic bag caught in a gust of wind he swirls out onto the dance floor, a very colourful, happy plastic bag. _If plastic bags can be happy_ , Gethin thinks. _Which of course they can’t, that’s just silly. I’m drunk. I should get out of here._

He’s smiling his thanks at the drag queen in the coat check when someone descends on him from the back and swirls him around. He barely keeps from stumbling over his own feet. But that’s not why his heart starts racing, _that’s_ all muscle memory. _Fight or flight_. He holds his breath and hugs his jacket close to his chest.

_It’s Jonathan._

And he looks apologetic.

Gethin curses himself. If he’d seemed scared before, now he must look terrified. _Relax_ , he tells himself sternly. _You’re safe. This is a safe place._

“Oh my God, I’m terribly sorry”, Jonathan says in a rush. “You must think I’m a right terror. I really didn’t mean to startle you. Again. I just saw you were about to leave and I just couldn’t let you go before I could… well, say goodbye, I suppose.”

Gethin doesn’t know what to say to that. He blinks a couple of times, hoping something will come to him. But nothing does. He tears his eyes away from the other man, _mustn’t stare_ , and starts putting his jacket on, to give himself something to do. He glances around shyly, to see if anyone else has witnessed his sketchy behaviour. The drag queen smirks, and _winks_. He curses silently.

“I-It’s fine”, he mutters and straightens up. “I guess I’m still getting used to… well, this.”

“London?”

Gethin blinks. That’s not what he’d meant, but he supposes it’s true. Even after five, almost six years of living in the city, it still doesn’t feel like the right _fit_. It doesn’t feel like _home_. He shrugs a little. Jonathan nods, and he actually seems to understand. Gethin swallows again, and glances at the exit. Jonathan follows his gaze and clears his throat a little.

“I was rather hoping you’d follow me to the dance floor”, he says. “But I don’t want to keep you, if you have somewhere to be.”

“I don’t”, Gethin says before he can stop himself. “I-I mean… I’m just going home, this isn’t really… I don’t know… I guess I’m not really the dancing type.”

A wide smile slowly stretches out across Jonathan’s face, and Gethin feels a mix of dread and excitement stir in his belly.

“I can teach you.”

It’s a line. It’s a bad one. But something in Gethin just screams for whatever that line might lead to if he grabs hold of it.

“Maybe another time”, Jonathan adds gently.

The dread/excitement is immediately smothered by a heavy layer of disappointment. But before he can make an even bigger fool of himself by reacting to it, Jonathan takes a step closer to him, _so close_ , in his space, and he holds his breath, for what he isn’t sure, and he tries not to hope. He stares. He knows he is. But he can’t seem to look away, afraid that if he does, Jonathan might disappear again.

“Maybe just a drink for now”, Jonathan says softly.

Gethin’s breath escapes him again, and he sucks in a new one. Then nods.

“I-I’d like that…”

Jonathan smiles, and gently grabs his hand. Gethin lets himself be lead back into the club that he hated a minute ago, but that now doesn’t seem all that bad anymore. He musters enough courage to twist his hand a little, and carefully aligns his fingertips with Jonathan. The other man glances at him, then immediately interlaces their fingers. 


	2. Morning

It takes two pints and a lot of _petting_ , that’s the best way to describe the little touches Jonathan has been giving him all night, and it should be annoying, Gethin should be affronted, or at least a little miffed at the display of obviously patronising behaviour, and definitely not be leaning into it and giggling like the little child he doesn’t want Jonathan to see him as. He’s _twenty-five_. But he can’t help it.

Jonathan leans in close to him and lets his fingers trail teasingly down his back while he murmurs something _quite_ indecent in Gethin’s ear and he just can’t contain the magnitude of _feelings_ that erupt inside him. It’s not like he’s a virgin, either in love or sex, although he must seem like it right now, but there’s just something about Jonathan. Plus it’s been forever. Not sex. He had a one-nighter a couple of weeks ago, although it was quick and near anonymous, barely better than a wank, but still. But this, what this feels like, even if it will only lead to a one-night-stand in the end, it’s already given him so much more. He’s not stupid or naïve enough to confuse this with _love_ , not love. But something like happiness, harmony, warmth. He just wants to stay here, in this moment, forever and ever.

The thought makes him blush. And he looks down, and he knows how it’ll look. Shyly, coyly, “Adorable”, Jonathan confirms, almost to himself.

And then he’s leaning in all the way, _it’s happening, it’s really happening_ , they’re kissing and it tastes like heaven.

Gethin wraps his arms around the other man, probably squeezing a little too hard, but he can’t stop himself. _He can’t stop himself._

Later, he’ll blame it on the drink and _not_ Jonathan’s seductive ways. That is, until he comes face to face with him again. And then it all comes crashing down on him again, all the warmth and giddiness and ticklishness, it just washes over him and he’s lost. Just _lost_.

It’s morning, the sunlight is harsh and unforgiving, the roar of traffic deafening and Gethin is decidedly sober, in fact he’s quite hangover and the last person he expects to see, the last person he wants to be seen by, is suddenly there in front of him. _How does he do that?_

Gethin blinks several times and squints up at the taller man. He’d been gone when Gethin woke up and, trying not to act like Cinderella, Gethin had focused on the menial tasks of opening up the shop to distract him from the churning in his belly that could be disappointment, or something else, he hadn’t bothered to reflect further on it.

But then he’s suddenly there again. Right _there._ In Gethin’s shop. Grinning widely and if possible even more handsome than Gethin remembered from the night before.

“Good morning!” he exclaims, as grandiose and flamboyant as he’d been when they’d first bumped into each other.

“How come you’re not in agony right now?” Gethin rasps out and glares a little, but it’s half-hearted.

Jonathan laughs and shrugs, “Don’t usually get hangover.”

“I hate you”, Gethin says and it comes out just as dryly as he’d intended, he feels quite proud of himself.

Jonathan laughs again, then leans against the counter and peers up at him through his eye lashes, doing a very good impression of a coy queen. _Or of you, last night_ , Gethin’s inner voice reminds him.

“Maybe not”, he adds and smiles a little. “I actually… I had fun… last night.”

He feels the blush on his face, but forces himself _not_ to look down. Jonathan just keeps smiling. It makes Gethin even more nervous, the quiet that stretches out feels itchy, and it’s a miracle that he manages to _not_ babble away nervously, like he usually does in these situations. Not that he’d had many of them, not like this anyway.

“I’m sorry I snuck out”, Jonathan says. “I woke up early and I was dying for a cup of tea, but I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

“You should have.”

“Yeah”, Jonathan mumbles. “But I couldn’t…”

“I’m glad you came back.”

“Yeah”, Jonathan says again. “Me too… So, about these dance lessons-“

Gethin blinks, “What?”

“Well”, Jonathan straightens up. “I seem to remember a promise made last night, and although you did a very decent job of distracting me from carrying it out-“

“I distracted you-?”

“I am a man of my word!”

“You’re mental”, Gethin says and chuckles. “I’m telling you though, I’ve got two left feet me…”

“Nonsense!”

“I’d feel stupid…”

“That’s quite alright”, Jonathan says and looks to the back room behind Gethin. “We’ll start off in private, so you won’t feel too self-conscious, think your boss might let us use the room in the back?”

“Erm, actually, I own the shop…”

“You’re shitting me? Well, I never… Welsh pretty boy, you are full of surprises.”

“How so?” he mumbles.

“Well, you act as a gay kitten who’s barely got used to the light, and here you tell me that not only do you work in London’s only gay book shop, but you in fact _own_ it. I’m impressed.”

“It’s not an act!” Gethin blurts, suddenly scared Jonathan is going to think it’s all just theatrics, that he’d been playing a role last night.

Jonathan smiles, _fondly again_ , and says “I know… that’s why I’m impressed.”

“Oh. Right.”

“So? How about it?”

 


	3. Six months

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months, that's a milestone in any relationship.

Jonathan invites Gethin to come and see various plays, usually ones that he’s in himself, and Gethin invites Jonathan to meetings with the other Icebreakers.

Even though he’s one of the founders of the organisation and owns the bookshop in which they have their meetings, like many other gay activist and support groups, Gethin immediately pulls back and keeps to the outskirts of the group as the meetings start, quietly offering tea while his friends and co-founders of the group do all the talking.

The first time Gethin invites him along, Jonathan just observes this. The second time, he takes the floor himself and the third time he ropes Gethin into it as well.

With all eyes on him, Gethin shuffles his feet nervously, trying to find a relaxed pose that won’t give too much of his genuine fear away, and he supplies some stuttering thoughts before Jonathan takes over again, his hand firm and warm against Gethin’s back, and Gethin has never felt more alive in his life. His two closests friends give him odd looks, as if to say _where did that come from?_ and Gethin feels a bit sheepish, realising what it must look like. But it’s not like he’d always wanted to speak up but didn’t dare or wasn’t allowed to until Jonathan showed up and shut the others up. It’s not like that. He never wanted to be the centre of attention, he never wanted to be the one to speak up, to lead. He was happy just facilitating.

But at the same time, being stuck in the shadows outside the group generally meant you were sort of forgotten half the time, left out, and he didn’t want that either. _This_ , he thinks as he cosies up to Jonathan as he fills up the room with his presence, _this is the perfect middle ground_ , and Jonathan found it for him.

Slowly but steadily, Jonathan coaxes Gethin out of his shell, or halfway out of it anyway. And it’s not like Gethin isn’t fully aware of what he’s doing, he’s more than aware, but it doesn’t bother him. It’s not like the other man is trying to change him, quite the opposite. He tries to encourage him to completely be himself, and to let the whole world see him. Gethin is all for being himself, not that he’s got the best self-confidence in the world, but he hasn’t got the lowest either, and anyway, as long as it’s good enough for Jonathan he couldn’t really care less about anyone else, including himself. He draws the line at being seen by the whole world though. London is quite enough. Jonathan chuckles fondly at him and simply shakes his head.

“Whatever you want, dear”, he says and leans in for a kiss.

It should be patronising, but it somehow isn’t. And even if it is, Gethin doesn’t really care anymore.

Once in a while they’ll bump into an old acquaintance of Jonathan’s, and Gethin isn’t stupid or naïve, contrary to Jonathan’s and their friends’ teasing, he knows what that means, but he doesn’t get jealous. Not _jealous_ , not per se. But he does pull away, it’s completely instinctive.

Every time some grinning, sweat glistening boy descends on them in the bar or in some night club, clutching Jonathan’s arm and squealing with delight, Gethin takes a step back as if he, still, considers anyone else, especially Jonathan’s colourful, charismatic, _funny_ friends, to be a better offer for Jonathan and although the very idea of Jonathan taking them up on it is heartbreaking, Gethin still wouldn’t blame him if he did.

Every time, his stomach sinks and he starts to pull away; Every time, before he’s even taken a full step, Jonathan catches him and pulls him back in, holds him firmly in the crook of his arm, nestled against his side. It makes Gethin’s chest flutter each time. Jonathan never comments on it, not at first anyway, but his grip hardens slightly with every time.

“Stop it-!” Jonathan says immediately and grabs his shoulder firmly, the stranger who had turned back to talk to him a second ago falters and quickly fades into the dancing background again when Jonathan ignores him and turns towards Gethin instead.

“What-!” Gethin squeaks nervously and shuffles his feet, he’d been about to do it again, he feels his cheeks flush and looks away, he’d actually been about to push away from the bar and turn away to give his boyfriend some privacy with this complete stranger, but it wasn’t even a conscious decision, it never is, well not since the first couple of times anyway.

Jonathan’s grip on his shoulder tightens and he winces.

“Where are you going”, Jonathan more or less growls, but it isn’t really a question.

“Thought I’d give you some privacy”, Gethin replies anyway. “Catch up…”

“What”, Jonathan snaps sharply.

“That guy”, Gethin mutters, face burning up and he can’t even look at Jonathan anymore. “He seemed to know you…”

“Gethin, this is getting ridiculous”, Jonathan says, and Gethin doesn’t make matters worse by pretending not to understand what he’s talking about, he just nods. “Good. Glad we got that sorted…”

 

 

When they reach the six month mark, the milestone of any relationship, but a badge of honour between two gay men and as close to an engagement as they’ll get if they stay together longer than that, Gethin starts to walk on egg shells around Jonathan without even realising it, as if the slightest little thing that would normally annoy his boyfriend now might push him away for good.

Finally, one afternoon as they’re cleaning up the backroom of the shop and preparing for _Lesbian Discussion Group_ ’s weekly meeting that night, Jonathan stops sweeping suddenly and twirls around to face him, _always so theatrical_ , “Do you want to break up?”

Gethin fumbles with the leaflets in his hands and a few flutter to the floor. He blinks uselessly at Jonathan, stunned not only by the outburst in itself but the content of it as well.

“Only you seem very intent on pushing me away recently”, Jonathan continues. “And when you’re not doing that, you avoid me like the plague!”

“W-what, t-that’s not true-“

 “Then what _is it_?”

“I...” Gethin gulps.

He gingerly puts the remaining leaflets down and arrange them together with shaky fingers. How does he do this, how does he get through this? His blood is rushing and for a moment that’s all he can hear. His heart is beating so wildly it hurts, _it’s really happening_ , he thinks. _We’re breaking up, he’s leaving me_ , and as much as he’s prepared himself for this subconsciously for the past few weeks, he is _not_ prepared, not at all.

 _It’s just another heartbreak_ , he tells himself. _Just another goodbye,_ but it feels like the end of the world. But as much as it hurts, as much as he knows it will crush him to smithereens to let Jonathan go, to have him leave anyway would be even worse.  

“Geth…” Jonathan murmurs. “If you want out, just tell me…”

“What”, Gethin breathes out. “N-no, _no_.”

He wishes he had the strength to exclaim that with more conviction, but his lungs don’t seem to want to fill up and the best he can manage is a heartfelt whisper, and even that makes him dizzy.

“I’m just thinking about you”, he forces himself to say, _it’s my choice to let him go, my choice to be left_. “I  mean, you’re not exactly… monogamous”, he swallows a hint of bile and trudges on, firmly blinking away the blurriness in his eyes. “And it’s not fair of me to ask that of you, that’s not who you are, and I don’t want to, I don’t know, _suffocate_ you…”

“Geth”, Jonathan interrupts, and there’s an edge to his voice that isn’t visible in his face that remains soft and open. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but we’ve been exclusive now for six months…”

 _I hope so_ , Gethin doesn’t say, he just nods and swallows thickly.

“Right”, Jonathan says. “But I’m still not serious enough for you-“

“-What-?”

“-So what do you suppose I do to finally convince you? Hm?”

“That’s not what-”

“I mean, I don’t get it. Have I done anything to make you doubt my commitment to you at all?”

“What, _no_ …”

“Is it the dancing? ‘Cause just because I dance with other people doesn’t mean I’m _flirting_ …”

“No, I know you’re not!” Gethin says. “But you want to, don’t you. I mean, it’s who you are, _you’re Carmen_ , you should be free to… I don’t want to shackle you, I don’t want to wake up one morning a year from now, or five or… and have you staring with me with disgust and resentment because I’ve held you back…”

“Gethin”, Jonathan cuts him off again, and he sucks in a deep breath and blinks away an embarrassing layer of liquid from his eyes, nods quickly, shuts up, and Jonathan nods too. “I _love_ you.”

“W-what?” Gethin croaks.

“ _I love you._ ”

He gently grabs Gethin by the shoulders and pulls him in. Gethin lets his head fall forward until it knocks against the other man’s collarbone. Jonathan wraps his arms around him, envelops him in warmth, _love_ , _this is how that feels_ , and even sways a little. After a moment Gethin raises his arms and hugs him back.

“I love you too”, he mutters thickly into his chest.

Jonathan plants a kiss in the hair on the top of his head, stays there for a moment and just breathes him in. Gethin tightens his embrace slightly, _I’m not letting him go, I’m never letting him go_ , he thinks irrationally. _That will never be a choice I’ll make_.

“Does this mean I can finally move into the flat?” Jonathan says suddenly.

Gethin pulls his head back and looks at him, surprise and barely maintained hope soaring inside of him as he looks for traces of humour in the lines of the other man’s face.

“Well, I’m here often enpugh”, Jonathan continues. “It only makes sense…”

“You want to live together?”

“Of course I want to live together”, Jonathan says and rolls his eyes, and if it wasn’t for the tension that Gethin can feel gradually leaving his body, he’d never have guessed he was nervous at all. “I _love_ you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Gethin shuffles his feet, and his hand where they rest on the small of Jonathan’s back, the material of his shirt a little scratchy.

“I’ll make you a key”, he croaks around the involuntary smile that twitches at the corners of his mouth.

 

 


	4. Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just a dizzy spell, love”, Jonathan murmurs and wraps his arms around him, nearly smothering him against his chest. Gethin eagerly melts into him and clutches at his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things will get a bit angsty from now on. But there is a happy end in sight (obviously, since this is all pre-movie...)

It starts off slowly, just a few pounds dropped, skin taking on an ashen tone and every once in a while he starts to feel faint for no reason. He never admits it, but Gethin can tell. He gets a glazed-over look in his eyes and sometimes he sways slightly. Gethin presses his lips together and frowns at him, but Jonathan says nothing and there’s a stubborn air of nonchalance about him for the rest of the day as if to balance out the tension in Gethin. They don’t talk about it.

“You really should cut down”, Gethin mumbles uncomfortably as Jonathan lights a joint.

Jonathan glances over at him and traces the tension in his shoulders with a calculating look, then quietly opens up a window. Gethin lets it go.

It’s been a year of sharing the same space and they’ve fallen into a comfortable routine. They have their sides of the bed, the bathroom shelf, the wardrobe. Gethin does the laundry and washing-up. Jonathan cooks. Every once in a while he’ll throw a fit over the bedroom colour scheme or the shape of the couch cushions and Gethin lets him re-decorate without a word, silently grateful that Jonathan takes his restlessness and frustration out on a wall or a couch and not their relationship. Because he still hasn’t been able to completely shake the idea that Jonathan deserves better and one of these days he’ll realise it. It’s not that he’s got low self-esteem, not really. It’s just _Jonathan_ , he’s just so… and Gethin can’t believe his luck sometimes.

Even when the other man is all over the place, which he is most of the time, Gethin doesn’t mind. He is the fixed point in the relationship around which Jonathan flutters.

But whenever Jonathan is in one of his moods, between panto-season and the next theatre gig, or on a particularly grey day, or a completely normal day, even after a year, Gethin still finds the man surrounded by egg shells and maybe he’s the one to put them there in the first place, but they’re there all the same and he adjusts his walk accordingly.

And on the good days, _and Jonathan has a lot more of those to be fair_ , Gethin is showered with love and compliments, and sometimes even gifts for no particular reason at all. That’s the thing about Jonathan. He’ll purposefully neglect to buy you anything for Valentine’s day when it’s traditionally expected, but he’ll show up with a bunch of sunflowers and a balloon on a random Tuesday just because it’s sunny outside and he’s in a good mood and it reminded him of how much he loves you, _or loves me_ , Gethin thinks, _hopes_ that Jonathan doesn’t go around handing out flowers and balloons to people in general.

They have their routines, and Gethin is happy, _more than happy_ , but then again _he_ likes routine whereas _Jonathan_ probably just puts up with it, for Gethin’s sake. So maybe he takes it out on the wallpaper or the curtains every once in a while, but it works. _They_ work. And a small part of Gethin is almost expecting something terrible to happen, because he still can’t bring himself to believe in good things. Later he’ll hate himself for ever thinking that.

He tries to tell himself, and Jonathan, that it’s the smoking that is making him ill. _You smoke too much, and you don’t eat properly_ , he’ll complain and it’s just as much for his own benefit as it is for Jonathan, as if by saying it enough times he can actually fool himself into believing that that is all it is. _Bad living_. Jonathan will roll his eyes and mutter that he _already has a mum thanks_ , but underneath there’s a hint of relief or gratitude. They don’t talk about it.

But then it starts to get worse. And Gethin finds it harder and harder to ignore the lump in his throat and the ice in his stomach. He tries not to let it show too much, but Jonathan always could read him like a record sleeve. If he can tell though, he pretends that he can’t. And when Gethin starts giving him openly worried looks, he still pretends he can’t.

“Probably just a bug”, he says dismissively after a dizzy spell and the cold coil wrapped around Gethin’s insides tightens.

“Yeah”, he says and it sounds hollow even to him. “But the smoking isn’t helping, is it…”

Jonathan smirks and tells him to stop worrying so much. That is like telling a bee to stop gathering nectar, worry is what Gethin does, worry and fret and fuss, and by the way Jonathan ropes him in and plants a gentle kiss on his temple it’s clear that he’s fully aware of it, and doesn’t mind at all.

One morning Jonathan stumbles getting up from his chair at the kitchen table and falls heavily against the counter, clasping the edge to keep himself upright. Gethin rushes over to him immediately, a slightly panicked squeak breaking away from his throat just before it closes up. He puts his arm around the other man and helps support his weight until he seems to have regained most of the strength in his legs.

Gethin strokes his hair off of his clammy forehead almost compulsively and mumbles reassuring nothings at him, but by the time Jonathan stops trembling and straightens up, _Gethin_ is the one who needs reassuring.

“Just a dizzy spell, love”, Jonathan murmurs and wraps his arms around him, nearly smothering him against his chest.

Gethin eagerly melts into him and clutches at his shoulders. Jonathan hushes him gently. Gethin shakes his head and takes a steadying breath. He allows himself one sob before he immediately pulls himself together again.

“You’re going to the hospital”, he says, his voice breaking pitifully.

Jonathan sighs, “Darling, you know I hate doctors…”

Gethin wrenches away from him and fixes him with a wild look, his tear-streaked cheeks glistening in the pale morning light for effect, and Jonathan sighs again.

“I don’t care”, Gethin says shrilly. “You’re going! I can’t cope with this anymore! I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in weeks--!”

Jonathan frowns as the words register, “Wait, what…”

He holds the shorter man at arm’s length to be able to really look at him, and it only makes Gethin more upset. Fresh tears run down his face as he babbles, uncontrollably, every thought and feeling that he’s tried to repress or has hidden away, it all comes spilling out in a mess of worry and panic. He tells Jonathan, finally, how much he _actually_ worries, constantly, and Jonathan is _too stupid to even see_ , to even realise, the _weight_ of that worry, the suffocating, heavy _pain_ of it and _can’t even bother to cut down on the grass_

“Hey, hey, Geth…” Jonathan soothes.

He tucks Gethin into his chest again and Gethin burrows into it immediately. Jonathan strokes his back and hushes gently.

“Promise me you’ll go to hospital”, Gethin whines thickly around half-swallowed sobs.

“Fine”, Jonathan sighs. “If that’ll put your mind at rest, I’ll go get a check-up… will you come with me and hold my hand?”

Gethin chuckles a little, and wipes his sleeve over his face. Jonathan gives him a teasing grin.

“I will if you want”, Gethin says genuinely.

Jonathan shrugs, _why not?_

 

He can’t shut it off, the worry. It’s just part of him. He worries about young boys he sees leaving the clubs late at night, worries they’ll get jumped and assaulted on their way home. He worries about the shop getting audited and his shipments of books confiscated in the name of censorship. He worries about making rent and paying the bills. But most of all he worries about Jonathan, worries that he won’t get any work and slip into a depression, worries that he’ll catch a cold on a rainy day or, worst of all, get bored with Gethin and leave him.

He tells himself that by worrying about the worst case scenario, he’s safe; because if it happens he’ll be prepared for it, and anything else that might happen instead won’t feel as bad in comparison. This is Gethin’s safety net, his coping mechanism.

So when the doctor’s professional seriousness sort of flickers and a there’s a twitch of a genuine frown as he scans the test results, and a sudden jittery restlessness appears in the way he holds himself, Gethin’s worry short-circuits. He frowns in confusion as the doctor mumbles a quick excuse and slips out of the room to go consult a colleague. He squeezes Jonathan’s hand, _even though that was supposed to have been a joke_ , as if things are really serious even though he refuses to believe it himself. Jonathan squeezes back, and it should feel comforting, but _it just doesn’t_.

 

“We don’t really know, well anything, about this virus…” one of the two doctors says sheepishly. “It’s a completely unknown strain… there’s only been one other documented case, a 49-year-old man who was admitted for PCP, erm, pneumonia, and that was only last month…”

“And how is _he_ doing?” Jonathan asks.

The pause seems to suck all the air out of the room; it definitely sucks all the air out of Gethin. Jonathan puts his arm around him and gives him a worried look, but he’s distracted. He’s still waiting for the doctors’ response, but it isn’t coming, they share a desperate look, as if each of them were silently begging the other to speak, and Gethin wants to stand up and scream at them, _we can actually see you, you fucking idiots!_

Finally one of them clears his throat and says, “He died ten days later.”

_It’s not true_ , Gethin shakes his head slightly as he paces the tiny space just inside the front door. Jonathan is in the kitchen cooking and Gethin has been exiled into the hall. He could go into the living room, or bedroom, but even if he can’t bear to look straight at Jonathan right now he still needs to have him in his peripheral. He needs to be constantly aware of him, to be reminded that he’s _still there_.

He’s been picturing the worst case scenario and worried about it all week, _and this isn’t it_.

“It’s not true”, he mumbles.

Tears are prickling at the corners of his eyes, but he won’t cry. That would make it real, and Gethin just _won’t_ , “there must be some mistake…”

“Gethin…” Jonathan sighs, but he doesn’t continue.

The pause hangs heavily in the air between them, Gethin thinks maybe that’s why he’s finding it harder and harder to breathe.

“Dinner’s ready”, Jonathan says finally.

“I’m not hungry”, Gethin says and it’s all wrong.

 

The hospital calls Jonathan back for a follow-up the next week and a small, _cruel_ part of Gethin is _hoping hoping hoping_ and when the doctor has nothing but _even worse news_ to give them, the very floor of him plummets and he’s left soaring inside himself, removed from everything, _numb_ until Jonathan removes his hand from his knee and then he aches instead. He aches more than he’s ever done before in his entire life. He’s not sure which is worse. He grabs Jonathan’s hand and squeezes it hard, probably enough to be painful, but Jonathan barely seems to notice. _That_ is worse, Gethin decides.

“There have been more cases”, the doctors tell them and there’s no hesitation this time around, on the contrary there’s a hint of urgency between them, and one of them is turned to Gethin the whole time, whereas the last time he and Jonathan were in their office neither doctor had acknowledged him at all.

“Okay”, Jonathan says. “So do you know any more—“

“No”, one of them says quickly and earns a quick warning look from his colleague. “Well… there is _something_ … something that links the patients.”

“And that is?”

“They’ve all been men”, the doctor continues, then hesitates slightly and adds, “Homosexual men.”

“I’m sorry”, Jonathan says after a moment’s silence. “I don’t know what this means…”

“It means”, the other doctor says curtly and turns to Gethin again. “That we think it would be wise to have Gethin tested as well.”


	5. Won't live without you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patient one had died within ten days of being diagnosed... It’s been twenty-four days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the angst. And sorry for the short chapter.

Gethin is pacing again. Patient one had died within ten days of being diagnosed, he thinks for the umpteenth time. _But_ , he reminds himself. _He’d been admitted to hospital because he had pneumonia, not because he had a boyfriend who worries too much_. But he’d _died_ , and that really is the crucial part. Ten days or thirty, dead is still dead. _It’s been twenty-four days_ , Gethin walks back into the living room again.

Jonathan watches him warily from his position in the corner of the couch where he’s slouched over a few pages of script, literally _crammed_ into the corner of the couch, as opposed to sprawled out across the whole thing as usual, _at a safe distance_. Gethin feels sick.

“No”, he croaks stubbornly and strides over to him.

Jonathan immediately recoils as Gethin straddles his lap and puts his arms around his neck, hisses at him to _get off_ and even though it’s a rejection and it _does_ sting, Gethin only feels more desperate to cling on.

“You heard what the doctors said”, Jonathan growls and pushes him away.

“I don’t care!” Gethin croaks miserable but climbs off him anyway and starts pacing again.

He’s wringing his hands and pulling at his hair, all the dramatic gestures. Jonathan points it out to him.

“Fuck you!” Gethin says, but it comes out soft and frail and resembles a plea more than anything.

“Gethin”, Jonathan says. “Whatever this virus is, I have it—“

“How can they not know what it is—!” Gethin wails.

“You were there, you know just as much as I do”, Jonathan mutters, clearly fed up with both the subject and the situation, his face sallow from lack of sleep and his whole body taut with tension and Gethin feels awful but _he can’t turn it off,_ “I’ve been infected, but you haven’t. And I’m sure as fuck not going to be the one who infects you, alright?”

He reaches for his grass and starts to roll himself a joint.

“Do you have to!” Gethin snaps. “Now! Of all times!”

“Yes”, Jonathan hisses around the joint before he lights it and for the first time there’s a hard look in his eyes when he glances at Gethin, then he inhales with another hiss and avoids looking at him altogether. “Now of all times ( _exhale_ ) or weren’t you listening? Now is all I’ve got…”

 _You bloody bastard_ , Gethin doesn’t say. But it’s implied in the way he slams the front door when he leaves.

 

He walks around for hours, trying not to cry. Part of him actually welcomes the idea of a bashing, but it never comes. No-one pays him any mind at all. It’s past midnight when he returns home. The flat is dark and quiet. He carefully toes his shoes off and pads into the bedroom as silently as he can, then slips out of his clothes and crawls into bed next to Jonathan. He curls up as close to him as he can without touching. As much as he wants to, as much as he feels he _needs to_ , he knows that if he did, if he cuddled up to Jonathan and the other man woke up, then he wouldn’t just leave the bed but might actually leave _full-stop_.

Instead, he just lies close enough to feel the other man’s body heat and watches the rise and fall of his chest as he snores lightly. He’d never expected something so small and ordinary as the chest movements of another man breathing to be so comforting, but it is. It’s the most comforting thing he’s seen in what feels like a life-time.  

He wakes up suddenly and the space next to him is empty. There’s a pressure in his chest and even when he’s stumbled out of bed and into the hallway and can actually hear Jonathan potter about in the kitchen, the pressure only lifts a little.

“You’re awake”, Jonathan comments unnecessarily as Gethin sidles up to the doorway and hugs himself, usually Jonathan would rope him into his arms when he’d do that, but now the other man turns away from him instead. “Kettle’s just boiled…”

Gethin says nothing.

“I’ve been thinking…” Jonathan continues, and there’s an airy quality to his voice that makes Gethin want to cry, or scream, or vomit.

He drags his feet across the threshold instead and sinks down in his seat at the table. Jonathan finally turns back around to face him, although his gaze flickers between his hands and shoulders, never straying too close to his face.

“Maybe it would be best if I moved out…”

Gethin feels light, like he might float away at any moment. He’s not all that sure if that would be a bad thing anymore. There’s a noise in his head, like water, like a storm. He reaches for the box of tea bags and fingers the edges, not opening the lid or anything, just plays with it idly. _Gethin_ , Jonathan’s voice floats through the noise of the waves in his mind, but he pretends not to have heard.

The pressure in his chest is gone. He’s beyond worry and anxiety. He’s just empty.

 _Jonathan’s leaving_ , he thinks. Now or later, it doesn’t really matter all things considered. Gone is gone. Dead is dead. _He’s leaving me, he’s actually leaving me_. The worst case scenario, except _so much worse._ He should be breaking down about now, he’s aware of that. But he’s not breaking, and the only explanation he can think of is that he must already be broken. _Gethin_ , Jonathan says again and there’s more of an edge to it now.

“I can’t live without you”, Gethin mumbles.

It’s so true it’s almost funny and Gethin almost laughs, but there’s not enough air anymore. He finally opens the box and grabs a tea bag. He rolls it between his fingers, it’s quite soft. He never really bothered to notice that before.

“You can’t live _with_ me”, Jonathan counters.

Tea leaves crumble like dust from Gethin’s fingers and Jonathan sighs somewhere to his right. He says he won’t, he’ll stay, he’ll sleep on the couch, and Gethin says nothing. Somehow, it’s like a promise has been made. _I can’t live without you_ , he won’t.


	6. Silences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The number of people diagnosed with the HIV-virus are in their hundreds now. Many of them, most of them have died of AIDS already. Gethin and Jonathan both pretend they’re not keeping count, 128, and they pretend not to be aware of the death sentence hanging over Jonathan, hanging over the both of them.

The pauses turn into silences and they hang thick in the air all around them, like a fog that stretches out across the flat and curls around their bodies as they tip-toe through their daily routines. There’s a solid space between them, never too wide but constant; Gethin pushes closer, Jonathan pulls away, and like magnets they move around each other in perfect synchronicity, _it’s a dance_ and Gethin never did get past the basics of dancing but he knows enough to follow Jonathan’s lead.

The number of people diagnosed with the HIV-virus are in their hundreds now. Many of them, _most of them_ have died of AIDS already. Gethin and Jonathan both pretend they’re not keeping count, _128,_ and they pretend not to be aware of the death sentence hanging over Jonathan, hanging over the _both of them_.

Jonathan smokes and drinks more than ever, and Gethin grits his teeth and tries to keep his nagging to a minimum. The other man has also started to go clubbing a lot more, as if making up for lost time since he met Gethin and started staying in more, _or maybe he’s making up for time that he knows he_ will _lose_ , Gethin shakes the thoughts away. He can’t be dealing with that now. He stocks the fridge with vegetables and wholefoods, airs out the bedroom and scrubs the floors. Jonathan eyes him discretely from the doorway, then leaves. Gethin lets him.

He tried to keep up with him at first, and at first it was a relief to see his lover transform into his old self again, relaxed and happy as he fluttered around the bars as if he didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders at all. But after a while the disco beats and cocktail smiles got to be too much for Gethin. After a while it got harder and harder to watch Jonathan’s transformation back.

So he stays at home, and he cleans. _Maybe if you scrub hard enough_ , Jonathan mutters cynically once, _you can clean the AIDS from the flat._

Gethin won’t let him see him cry anymore. He waits until after they’ve said _goodnight_ and the bedroom door is closed between them. He stays with his face pressed against it, trying to make out the sound of Jonathan’s breathing from the couch and _then_ he cries, he cries and cries until his head is pounding from the exertion. Then he crawls into bed and cries some more until he passes out. Every night is the same. Gethin always _did_ like routine.

 

“Here’s to Happily Ever After”, Jonathan says over the rim of his glass and there’s a tired but genuine glint in his eye.

Gethin glances at him, but doesn’t reply. He definitely doesn’t smile, because _it’s not funny_ and he’s too tired to pretend. He continues to cut into his food. The very thought of shovelling it into his mouth, chewing it, swallowing it, digesting it, makes his stomach turn. But he leads by example, and he’s not about to stop now.

“Except you’re not happy”, Jonathan adds quietly and sips his wine.

“Neither are you”, Gethin counters and there’s not a trace of tone in his voice, _neutral, don’t give anything away, keep it together, keep strong, for him, you need to be strong for him_

Jonathan sighs wearily and puts the glass down. It clinks dully against the table cloth. Gethin glances at it, _no drops, good, don’t need to say anything_ , but Jonathan moves the glass onto the coaster anyway and Gethin guesses that’s what happens when you know someone inside-out, you don’t need to say anything.

“Geth…”

Gethin swiftly stabs a piece of meat and shoves it into his mouth, tries not to count as he chews mechanically. He swallows. It doesn’t seem to have gone down, he knows it _has_ , can feel it making its way through him, but it feels stuck in his throat anyway. He feels his eyes burn and swallows a few more times, before reaching for his water.

“Gethin”, Jonathan murmurs again.

“What”, Gethin croaks around the thickness in his throat, still staring at his plate.

“Why do you even want me here?”

His cutlery hits the plate with a loud clank and the chair more or less _screeches_ as it drags across the floor. He doesn’t look at Jonathan, he doesn’t say anything, just pushes away from the table and walks out.

The bedroom door closes with a _sigh_. He will not slam it. He won’t even shut it all the way, but leaves a tiny, tiny crack, and cries into the pillow so Jonathan won’t hear. _I’m breaking_ , he thinks, and it feels like a failure, like he’s letting Jonathan down and it just makes him cry harder.

The door _sighs_ again behind him, and he holds his breath miserably. He curls up into a tight ball, and presses the pillow against his face, can’t let anything escape, can’t let Jonathan hear, can’t let him know that his lover is a miserable, pitiful, broken _mess_ , but when he feels the bed dip next to him he can’t hold himself together any longer, Jonathan is here, he hasn’t been here in so long and now he is, he’s _so close_ and Gethin is _happysadhappysad_ and it’s all a mess; a dam breaks, _he_ breaks.

A steady, warm hand lands heavy on his shoulder and Gethin throws the pillow away and turns over in a flash. He curls into Jonathan’s chest and the other man puts his arm around him, he actually puts his arm around him and _holds him_.

 _Oh my God, Gethin, I’m so sorry_ , the words are strangled and wet, carried on a hot breath that nestles into Gethin’s hair and warms up his entire being. _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry_

Gethin says nothing, there’s nothing _to_ say, Jonathan already knows everything anyway, knows him inside-out. He trembles against the taller man’s chest, and the arm tightens around him, holds him together. Gethin nearly faints from the relief of it, _this is what it feels like,_ he reminds himself, _this is what it feels like to not have to hold yourself together on your own._

_I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m just so scared_

Gethin shakes his head, won’t hear it, won’t talk about it. He’s been _needing_ Jonathan to talk to him, to talk about this, to face it, to deal with it together, but now that it’s happening, he can’t do it.

_I’m so scared of losing you_

Gethin fists his hands in Jonathan’s shirt and pulls and pulls, as if they could get any closer than they already are, or maybe he’s just making sure that they’ll never get further apart than this ever again.

Jonathan is pressing desperate kisses into his hair, and Gethin tries to commit each and every one to his sense memory, to have and to keep, he doesn’t allow himself to think _for later_ , but it’s implied all the same and it makes him feel sick with himself. _No,_ he thinks, _I can’t, I won’t_ , and that’s the promise he’s made to himself.

“Jonathan”, he says like it’s a prayer.

“Yes”, the other man says. “Yes, love, I’m here, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere, I promise I’ll never leave you…”

 _You already did_ , Gethin doesn’t say because that’s not fair and he knows it.

“Not any more”, Jonathan adds anyway. “I won’t leave anymore, I’ll be here, I’ll _really_ be here, if you’ll still have me… Gethin, love… I just can’t lose you, I love you…”

Like a headache lifting, Gethin feels his head swirl with relief and happiness and _lovelovelove_ and it _actually_ makes him high. He snakes his arms around Jonathan’s body and hugs him, clutches at his back, claws at him, _I love you too_


	7. Kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’ve stopped given out numbers with each diagnosis now. That’s how many of them have fallen victim to the illness, so many that the doctors themselves are losing count, yet Jonathan is still alive, isn’t even doing any worse, and some days Gethin even forgets.

They’ve stopped given out numbers with each diagnosis now. That’s how many of them have fallen victim to the illness, so many that the doctors themselves are losing count, yet Jonathan is still alive, isn’t even doing any worse, and some days Gethin even _forgets_.

They’ve fallen into new routines, and it’s good, they’re happy. Gethin fusses and nags, Jonathan teases and plants little tiny kisses on the nearest surfaces, _temple, knuckle, chin_ , and Gethin swats at him in feigned annoyance, but his chest swells and judging by Jonathan’s smirks and winks, he knows it must be shining through, but he doesn’t find it in him to care. Things are good, they’re happy. They talk.

It took a while for Jonathan to get comfortable with physical contact again, even if they’re not doing anything more than _hug_ , and Gethin has made sure to touch him at every opportunity, to help him get used to it, and because he _can_ again, because he’s been starved for it and now he’s making up for lost time.

Jonathan has moved back into the bedroom and they’re sleeping together again. Sometimes it makes the _ache_ , or _itch_ rather, a little worse, to have his lover so close and still be unable to get _really close_ , but Gethin can deal with it. It’s just another form of intimacy and he misses it, of course he misses it, _like a lot_ , but if he would have had to choose, he probably would have chosen this over sex anyway, the closeness, the innocent loving touches, the small pecks and fingers sliding through hair, it’s more intense than any quickie ever could be anyway, just drawn out. Of course, it’s not the _quickies_ he misses, _but still_.

He reaches out and cards his fingers through his lover’s hair, _needs a cut_ , and he smiles a little. Jonathan smiles back, his eyelids are drooping, _it’s been a long day_ , Gethin cranes his neck and plants a careful kiss on the corner of his mouth, _sleep my lovely_

Jonathan is eyeing him when he moves back again, there’s a glint in his eye and Gethin knows it, knows it well, and he swallows thickly, _this is the hardest part_ , he smiles again, “Good night, love…”

“Good night”, Jonathan murmurs, and there’s a dark, _filthy_ undercurrent in his voice that makes Gethin’s stomach flutter and he shuts his eyes instinctively, _down_ he tells himself and chuckles a little, when he opens his eyes again Jonathan is smirking at him.

 _You’re bad_ , he thinks and shakes his head a little.

“Sleep”, he says and Jonathan’s smirk widens a little, but then he nods and brushes his lips across Gethin’s forehead, and Gethin _still_ holds his breath until he’s moved back to his own pillow again. 

 

 

“Well?” he says, as soon as Jonathan walks in the door.

He’s hovers in the kitchen doorway, wringing a kitchen towel nervously in front of him like a tiny barrier and although he’s itching to just walk up to the other man and put his arms around him, he holds back, as if waiting for a sign, anything that assures him that the gesture would be welcomed. Even after all this time. All those rejections from Jonathan, they cut deeply. Of course, the moment his lover put his arms around him and held him again, _held him together_ , the wounds started healing. But even now, another miraculous year down the line, Gethin is still mindful of his scabs.

Jonathan throws him a fond glance as he toes off his shoes.

“Come here”, he murmurs as he steps into the hall.

It’s the sign. And Gethin is over the threshold and across the floor in an instant, before the other man has taken more than one step towards him. Jonathan staggers back as Gethin embraces him suddenly and drops his head down on his shoulder, forehead knocking against his collarbone, but merely returns the hug and chuckles into his hair.

Gethin tilts his head back and plants a chaste kiss on the corner of his boyfriend’s mouth, then prompts again, “Well? What did they say?”

“Oh, same old, same old…” Jonathan says.

Gethin nods, these are bittersweet moments, when all the suspense and anxiety they’ve gathered between them suddenly deflates into the anti-climax that is another check-up telling them nothing new, _no better but no worse, here’s to another six months_ , so Gethin just nods, and quickly sucks in a deep breath and smiles, as widely as he can manage with the last remaining tension draining out of him and leaving him _exhausted_. Jonathan smiles as well, not very wide at all, but sincere. And he gently runs his fingers through Gethin’s messy hair.

“Darling, you should go lie down for a moment…”

Gethin frowns and shakes his head a little, “Don’t be silly…”

“You’re knackered”, Jonathan points out, but Gethin just shakes his head again, firmer this time, as if shaking the exhaustion away.

“I’ve made tea”, he says stubbornly, as if that should explain it all and Jonathan chuckles, swaying them a little.

“How did I ever get so lucky…” he murmurs.

There’s a beat, just a tiny pause when Gethin presses down an impulse to flinch, and then he smiles again, wider than ever. If Jonathan noticed anything, he doesn’t show it. These are bittersweet moments, and they’ve never really got used to them. But they’re doing okay, they’re doing more than okay. _They’re good. Things are good._ When you think about it, and Gethin tries hard not to, they really are lucky. They’re _so_ lucky, in fact they’re so much luckier than _so many others_ and sometimes at night, when he thinks Gethin has fallen asleep, Jonathan trembles under the weight of a survivor’s guilt that is heavy enough to _crush_ , and Gethin gets it, he does. And if he thinks about it, _which he tries really fucking hard not to_ , he feels bad for all those people, _he does_. But at the same time, Jonathan, _his Jonathan_ , is still here with him and no amount of sympathy is ever going to erase the paralysing joy that that fills him with. And Gethin will not feel guilty about that, _he just won’t_.

“I’m not going anywhere”, Jonathan mutters.

For a moment Gethin is confused, but then realises that he’s unconsciously tightened his embrace and is probably _crushing_ his boyfriend, as if worried he’ll slip away at any moment. He blushes a little and loosens his grip. Jonathan smirks gently and pecks him on the forehead, before squeezing by him and walking into the kitchen. Gethin trails after him and sinks into his seat at the table as Jonathan finishes making the tea.

Gethin watches fondly as Jonathan moves around the kitchen, his nimble fingers arranging biscuits and pouring milk, and knows what it is, knows that this is Jonathan’s version of _fussing_ and he happily lets it happen, _soaks it up_.

“Did you eat today?” the other man says, attempting to sound stern and Gethin smiles.

“Isn’t that my line?”

“Well”, Jonathan says, but then leaves it at that and places a cup of tea in front of him.

“Thank you”, Gethin murmurs.

“You made it”, Jonathan says and rolls his eyes.

 _Yes_ , Gethin thinks, _but thank you._ Jonathan meets his gaze, as if reading his mind, as usual, and raises his own tea cup in a tiny toast. Gethin chuckles a little. Things are good, _they_ are good.

 

 

Gethin snuggles down next to Jonathan under the covers and cuddles close. Jonathan lifts his arm to let him get burrow all the way into his chest and hugs him close, “You cold, love?” he mumbles and Gethin squirms a little against him but shakes his head _No_ and sighs.

Jonathan nuzzles the top of his head, trailing little close-mouthed kisses along his hairline absent-mindedly as he lets his hand stray a little down the smaller man’s back. Gethin stills, suddenly very aware, not just of Jonathan’s hand that now rests at the small of his back, but of all of him, every single place where their bodies connect. The all-too-familiar tingle of arousal starts stirring inside him. He squeezes his eyes shut and swallows thickly, _don’t_ , he tells himself, _don’t ruin it_.

Jonathan’s hand rubs gently across his back, soothing circles, _soothing_ Gethin tells himself and tries not to inhale too much of Jonathan’s smell, but suddenly it’s all around him, he’s blanketed in _spicy, musky, Jonathan, Jonathan_ , and then the edge of his t-shirt rides up a little and Jonathan’s fingertips touches his _bare skin_ and it’s all just _too much_. He tenses up. There’s no mistaking the subtle swelling between his legs anymore.

“Sorry”, he croaks.

He steels himself, ready to be pushed back, _gently, of course,_ Jonathan would ease him away gently, _but away all the same._ But he doesn’t. He hushes, and continues to rubs gentle, soothing, _skin on skin_ circles on Gethin’s lower back _and it’s maddening_.

“Jonathan…” Gethin forces himself to say nonetheless, even as his body is screaming _don’t stop, please don’t stop_ , he knows he has to, _he has to, doesn’t he?_

“Just relax…” Jonathan murmurs thickly. “Just relax, love…”

“I-I’m sorry”, Gethin says brokenly and leans away a little finally.

Jonathan’s hand stills, then he carefully pulls the t-shirt down again and slips his hand onto Gethin’s hip and just rests it there.

“I talked to the doctor…” Jonathan says, then hesitates.

“I know”, Gethin says, and he’s slightly embarrassed at how breathless he sounds already, but he can’t let himself hope like this, he has to push it away, _ignore the itch, push it back_

“Yeah… but I also asked him some questions.”

Gethin tilts his head back and looks his lover in the eyes then. His heart is hammering away in his chest, he’s not sure what he’s feeling, if it’s dread or excitement, but whatever it is, he feels it _a lot_.

Jonathan looks a little sheepish, so whatever it is, it can’t be _bad_ news, he thinks.

“What questions?” he croaks out when the other man won’t continue.

“About… well… you know.”

 _Just tell me already, you’re killing me here,_ Gethin doesn’t exclaim. Just squeaks out a _What_ and clears his throat to mask the tremor in his voice.

“I asked him about the possibility of a couple being intimate with each other when one is HIV-positive and the other isn’t”, Jonathan says bluntly.

“ _You what?_ ” Gethin gasps, torn between incredulous embarrassment and _ohgodohgodohgod what is he implying, no don’t hope, don’t get your hopes up, you’ve come to terms with this, you’re fine, you are_ fine

But Jonathan is wetting his lips and Gethin is transfixed and suddenly he doesn’t care anymore, he doesn’t care what the doctors say, or what the newspapers and leaflets say, or what they say on the telly, he just wants Jonathan, _he wants him so badly_ and his resolve is crumbling.

“There are more people surviving, they don’t know why, but some people, people like us, they’re struggling through and…”

“I know”, Gethin cuts in, _get to the point, get to the point._

“They’re confident that this virus is transmitted through sexual intercourse…”

Gethin frowns, they knew that already. Everyone knows that.

“But”, Jonathan continues and hesitates again. “As you know, there are other ways to be intimate, right… and, well, the doctor today told me that… _with due precaution_ … _some_ things should be safe.”

“I can’t take this anymore”, Gethin says. “What exactly are you telling me?”

“I’m telling you”, Jonathan says and pins Gethin with an open stare that seems to just _pour_ emotion onto him. “That I want to feel you, Gethin. I want to touch you.”

Gethin’s breath hitches. All his nerve endings are on fire. Jonathan might not even make it into his pants, because the mere suggestion, the look in his lovers eye, the _promise_ and _want_ and _need_ and _love_ , Gethin feels light-headed.

“K-Kissing?” he asks, voice frail with hope, _finally hope_.

Then Jonathan is _there, right there_ and it’s _hot_ and _wet_ and _amazing_ ; and it’s sweet, and it’s salty, one of them must be crying, maybe both of them, and it’s _perfect perfect perfect_


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan snorts, "And people say I'm the dramatic one..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some graphic stuff in this one, but short and sweet.

Gethin hears the front door open and walks over to the doorway to greet Jonathan as usual and as soon as he lays eyes on the other man he can see it. It’s right there on his face and in the way he holds himself, his body taut with tension and face tight from trying not to smile too obviously, and then there’s that familiar _glint_ in his eyes as well. Gethin feels a surge of excitement coated in apprehension well up inside of him, and squints suspiciously at Jonathan as he bustles into the hall and starts kicking off his shoes. One if the shoes lands a _little too far_ into the hallway, Gethin glances at it but bites his tongue. He’ll straighten them later. _But now…_ He eyes his boyfriend again, and _yes, there it is_ , badly hidden behind the other man’s back, a small black gift bag.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

Jonathan walks up to him, the bag still behind his back but smile no longer hidden at all and Gethin automatically kisses back when he leans in to plant a feathery kiss on his lips.

“I got you something”, he says, his voice a dark rumble full of _something_ , intrigue and promise maybe, and it makes Gethin’s pulse jump. “Well, _us_ …”

“You got us something?” Gethin repeats and tries hard to stay nonchalant, but he’s buzzing with curiosity and excitement, and he knows Jonathan can see right through him so there’s really no point in trying to pretend, but he does anyway.

“Mmmhm”, Jonathan rumbles and reveals the bag from behind his back.

Gethin hesitates before reaching out for it. He gets the sense that this is a significant moment somehow, different, special, he can’t put his finger on it but his pulse starts pattering away and his fingers tremble a little as he finally grabs the bag and holds it carefully.

He’s used to receiving gifts from Jonathan, flowers and balloons and chocolates and the odd trinket or record while they’re both browsing in some shop and he catches Gethin’s gaze lingering on something. But never like this. He’s never brought a small black gift bag home with him before, and never before has he smiled like this, _with eyes glinting_ , when he’s given Gethin something either.

Also, it’s four years to the day since Jonathan swooped down on Gethin and swept him away that very first night, and while Jonathan might pretend not to be keeping count, Gethin knows that he does and that would make today their anniversary and the thing about Jonathan is that he never bends to tradition and gives you something just because it’s expected, with the exception for Christmas which is just too important to ignore, but everything else, Valentine’s day and even birthdays, definitely anniversaries, he never acknowledges them. So for him to bring Gethin a gift today, it means something and Gethin isn’t sure what but it makes him nervous.

“Go on, open it”, Jonathan says eagerly.

Gethin tilts the bag and peers inside, and he immediately feels his face flush.

“Oh my God”, he gasps. “ _Jonathan!_ ”

The other man laughs in delight, and Gethin’s face heats up further.

“You _did not_ go out and buy this! I can’t believe you!”

“What?” Jonathan laughs. “Why not!”

“Oh my…” Gethin half-twirls restlessly, as if unsure what to do with himself, wishing the floor would just open up, his heart pounding and face burning, and at the same time a slight tingle starts building up low in his abdomen and he almost groans. “ _Where_ did you--?”

He risks a glance at his lover and catches him bite down on his smile and just _knows_ where he got it, can picture him waltzing in and waving his arm dramatically in greeting and then asking to _see a selection of… of…_

“ _Oh God_ ”, Gethin groans. “We _know_ them, Jonathan. Oh, I’m so humiliated right now…”

Jonathan snorts.

“And people say I’m the dramatic one…”

He takes the bag back and _gets the thing out_. Gethin glances at it, but has to look away quickly as his face immediately heats up again.

“That’s enough of that, get over it”, Jonathan continues. “Come on, admit it… you want to try it out!”

Gethin swallows thickly and glances at the thing again, _fucking cerise too_ , he should be mortified, he _is_ mortified, _except…_ the tingling in his abdomen is still stubbornly present, and it only increases when he allows himself to picture it, picture _them_ and _that_.

“T-That’s not the point…” he mutters.

Jonathan laughs again.

“Aww, darling _relax_ … it’s the eighties!”

 

 

There’s a heavy tension in the air. Everything looks the same; the walls, the dresser, _the bed_ , and Jonathan in his dressing gown, peering at him with sultry eyes from his side of the bed as he pulls the covers back and puts the throw pillows aside. Gethin lingers just inside the doorway, shaky with nerves and excitement. He chuckles a little at himself and Jonathan throws him a small smile.

“I feel nervous”, Gethin admits and they both chuckle.

It disperses some of the tension but not nearly enough, the air is still charged and Gethin is still thrumming with it.

“We don’t have to tonight”, Jonathan says simply and climbs into bed.

“Don’t say that”, Gethin groans and finally approaches the bed himself. “I feel like I’m about to lose my virginity or something…”

He climbs in next to Jonathan and wriggles into the pocket of the covers. The other man rolls over to face him and props his head up on his hand so that he can gaze into his face properly. Gethin puts his hand on top of Jonathan’s where it slides onto his chest, then rubs up his arm gently, _stay_ , even as they hold back and just watch each other. Small, innocent touches. This is familiar territory. And it helps Gethin relax a little.

Slowly, Jonathan leans down and touches his lips to Gethin’s in a soft, feathery kiss. Gethin’s eyes flutters closed automatically and he sighs into it, slots his lips in place against Jonathan’s and presses _just slightly_ for a moment.

Then Jonathan gently probes his lips apart, just enough to catch his lower lip between his and the tip of his tongue sneaks out to dab at it teasingly. Gethin moves into it, his _whole body_ moves into Jonathan as if pulled by some magnetic force and he lets his hand travel up the other man’s arm and onto his back, pulling him _closer closer_ and pressing their bodies together.

He feels Jonathan’s hand slide over his hip and sneak onto his bum where it kneads gently, then _squeezes_ and Gethin moans into the kiss.

As if on cue, Jonathan pushes Gethin onto his back and pins him down with his own body. He wrenches his mouth away from Gethin’s and starts kissing down his neck instead. Pushing his knee into the space between Gethin’s legs he starts to grind against him in a smooth, assertive rhythm. Gethin clutches his shoulders and gasps as Jonathan gently bites down on his neck and _sucks_.

“Jonathan”, he gasps.

The other man hums against his shoulder. His hands are everywhere. Gethin can’t tell anymore. He can’t think, he just _feels_ and he’s even struggling with that. He’s just completely _overwhelmed by sensation_ , more than he’s been in _such_ a long time that he barely even remembers having ever felt this much before at all. And they haven’t even started yet. So far they haven’t done anything that they haven’t been doing already. Kissing, touching, _wonderful kisses and touches, more than enough, so much more than enough_ and Gethin never dared hope that they’d ever get to have more than that again, and that was fine, _but now_ … oh, just the thought of it, the silent promise of _more_ and he’s already coming undone.

Jonathan is hushing him soothingly and pets his hair, nuzzles his chest, while still grinding against him, grinding in that steady, slow, _excruciatingly slow_ rhythm and Gethin is _mewling_ and _clawing_ and _jutting_ and

“Jonathan, Jonathan, Jonathan…”

 _Love_ , Jonathan hushes into his skin, _ssshh love, I’ve got you, I’ve got you_

 _Yes you do,_ Gethin thinks wildly, passionately _, you really do_

He barely registers when Jonathan starts pulling his pants off, but lifts his hips automatically and kicks them off once Jonathan’s pushed them down his legs. Then Jonathan is shifting and Gethin lets his legs spread further apart, making room for him but the other man doesn’t settle between his legs at all, he starts to shift _away_ and a stab of worry immediately flares up in Gethin until he _remembers_ , until he _sees Jonathan reaching for the toy_ on the bedside table and he feels the flush spread all over his body, feels himself _burn_.

“Oh God”, he gasps.

“Don’t overthink it”, Jonathan grumbles and kisses him.

 _No,_ Gethin wants to say, _no it’s good, it’s good, it’s amazing_ , but Jonathan is kissing all the words and all the air out of him and it doesn’t matter anyway, he figures and clambers on, _clutches, claws, pulls_ , wants Jonathan closer, as close as he can have him and it still won’t be close enough.

He vaguely registers the sound of a bottle cap snapping and then there are _fingers_ , Jonathan’s graceful, gentle fingers slick with lubrication and they’re rubbing carefully at the sensitive skin just behind his balls, and just teasing the crack of his arse. Gethin whimpers in desperate encouragement. Jonathan sucks on his lower lip and it’s almost confusing, like Gethin’s brain doesn’t have the capacity to take in both sensations at the same time.

A finger starts massaging his swelling ring muscle patiently, teasingly, _excruciatingly_ and Gethin had forgotten this, had forgotten how _maddening_ it is, how _good_ but maddening to be at Jonathan’s mercy like this, sweet amazing Jonathan, the most thoroughly considerate lover he’s ever had. He fists his t-shirt now, _why is he still dressed anyway?_ and whimpers, mewls, moans and Jonathan laps it all up hungrily.

Before he knows it, Jonathan has worked two fingers into him and it barely even stings. Just fills him and stretches him out, and it’s a _gloriously filthy promise_ that he never expected to feel again and he almost _wants_ it to hurt just so he can be sure that it’s really happening, so that he’ll still feel it in the morning and _know_.

And then he hits the spot and a wave of pleasure shoots through Gethin, like lightening in his nervous system.

“Another?” Jonathan breathes out against the side of his face and Gethin shakes his head mutely, sweat damp hair tickling his forehead and Jonathan withdraws his fingers again.

Gethin swallows a whine and holds his breath. There’s another _snap_ of a bottle cap and then he _feels it_ , pressing against him, sinking into him and Gethin screws his eyes shut. Jonathan’s mouth brushes his eyelids in soothing kisses, whilst the thing fills him up.

 _No_ , Gethin corrects himself. _It’s Jonathan_ , Jonathan fills him up and as soon as he thinks _that_ there’s a _flash_ of pleasure and he pants shamelessly. A mantra of _JonathanJonathanJonathan_ is buzzing through his mind and an almost painful pressure starts building in his abdomen.

_Close, I’m close_

He doesn’t want it to be over so quickly, but it’s been forever and it’s _all too much_ , there’s no way to control it.

 _It’s okay_ , he’s vaguely aware of Jonathan murmuring into his skin. Gethin bucks against him desperately and whines pitifully as the pressure builds and builds and finally explodes through him ruthlessly in white hot sparks of _painpleasurepainpleasure_.

Once he’s come down, Jonathan is already wiping him clean, not that there’s much to wipe off, just some sweat and leftover lube, _and isn’t that convenient_ , the pedantic part of Gethin vaguely registers, but he forgets it just as soon because there’s warmth and musk and spicy _Jonathan_ right there and Gethin wants to curl up in him like he were a blanket.

 _Fuck, I’ve missed this_ , Jonathan gasps once he’s gathered up the trembling mess that used to be Gethin and hugged him close to his chest. Gethin snuggles close to him as he catches his breath, rubbing his face against his chest like a lovesick kitten and Jonathan kisses the top of his head and just holds him.

“You’re gorgeous”, he mutters into the damp mess of hair and kisses again and again and again. “I can’t decide what you remind me of more, a kitten or a porn star…”

Gethin chuckles breathlessly, too spent to feel embarrassed.

“Happy anniversary”, he mumbles instead and feels the other man still slightly.

“Oh, is that today…” he says carelessly, but it’s much too nonchalant to be real.

Gethin smiles against his chest, already half-asleep.

“Don’t even…” he mumbles.

Jonathan chuckles a little, “Okay, you got me…”

 _Yeah_ , Gethin thinks with a swelling feeling in his chest, before he slips completely into sleep. _I have, I really have_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for this fic! Thanks for reading :)


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